Vamping, the Sequel: Family Ties and Antidotes
by Marjatta
Summary: Follows my first parody, "Vamping" but is a bit wilder and uninhibited. Pairs Robin and Marian. SPOILERS for S2 and S3 finales.
1. Chapter 1

**A Sequel to Vamping: Family Ties and Antidotes**

Many thanks to my beta reader, Desi, for help with containing my rampant words errant.

Rating: M for language and adult topics. *Spoilers* for the finales of Series 2 and 3.

_Disclaimer: The original, non-parodied versions of these characters belong to the BBC and Tiger Aspect. No copyright infringement intended; just mockery, rudeness, ridicule, snorts, yuks, and the usual snarks. Vampires, on the other hand, are in the public domain!_

Chapter 1

Being a vampire was the handiest trick Robin could ever have imagined. It even made up for all his unrequited devotion to that blowhard Richard. Robin had to conclude that his youthful allegiance to his king was based on, well, unquestioning loyalty, which is more of an insult than a compliment to the person giving said loyalty. Just because a guy wears a crown on his head doesn't improve the quality of his intelligence. What a bloated lot of self-serving gits the Plantagenets are. Crown, be damned. The madhatter didn't even have the sense to question how he had been given the information of Robin's alleged treason. What a dolt! Get this. An agent of his enemy—an enemy whom the king had fought on the most hellish battlefield on earth for years and incidentally killed thousands of enemy soldiers and civilians alike in the process (helped in this questionable task by yours truly, it pained Robin to admit)—this agent, it must be reiterated, tells the madhatter, er, king that his most trusted, albeit former, loyal captain of his very guard is a traitor, and not one alarm bell clinks in the old rusty, royal noggin. A five-year old could have seen the problem in that logic. Moron.

If only he, Robin, could save England and hand the crown over to someone who'd know what to do with it, like Eleanor. Now there was an interesting woman. If she weren't such a fossil…. Well, never mind that line of thought. Water under the dam, of course. Besides, Robin was committed to his Marian and his vampirehood. He sighed contentedly for a moment. But no matter, there was still the fact that if not Richard, then John would be king. John? To think how nations rose and fell—and populations lived and died—by that woman's womb! Eleanor should have learned some of the many contraception tricks up Saracen sleeves. Royals really need to be more careful about how often they reproduce. Four sons is way too many for any one king.

All in all, Robin was rapidly becoming overwhelmed by the sheer number of stupid people in the world, but the story didn't end there. What about that travesty out on the desert? Fortunately, the Lionheart didn't have the guts to execute his captain outright_, __the captain_ _who had saved his life most heroically_ (plenty of guilty conscience must have been fermenting somewhere under his skull), so energetic Carter, ever willing to take the initiative, checked his brain out of the confines of the royal tent and formed a rescue plan. (Carter would have made a fine vampire, by the way.) Another curious fact that Richard never questioned: Robin recuperated immediately from the attempted execution because it really couldn't have killed him anyway, so even though he was still pissed over Richard's colossal lapse of judgment, Robin was able to fight Saladin's muscle-man assassin less than an hour later. Well, nearly able. The man was three times his size, after all. Had to be. Didn't that dunce of a king see anything odd in that?

Then the rest of the comedy of errors played out. Gisborne's sword didn't really kill Marian (it missed her heart, obviously), but Marian knew immediately, as well as he, that she had to appear to die. At least it offered an opportunity to get married, more or less, by the king (lucky they didn't need him to say the words for them; chances were nil that Richard had any idea what the actual words were supposed to be), and it wasn't such a bad wedding for a pair of vampires. The bride was dazzling in bloodied white with a honking big red jewel for a matching wedding ring.

After she had appeared to die, which scene she rushed a little too quickly for Robin's liking, he, the bereft husband, had asked everyone to leave them alone a few moments. Robin thought he should get an award for his part in this acting job. To be fair, so should Marian. It was an excellent ensemble piece. People were too stunned to react at first, but finally, even a duly impressed Much had backed off a suitable distance giving the tragic couple some space. Allowed this chance, Robin tried his best to whisper his questions to Marian while pretending to sob. Marian kept her eyes closed and assured him in mumbled tones that as long as the shroud he provided for her could keep the sand well off her face, she would need no air and could sleep in the ground until Robin dug her up in the night. Robin told her that she was the most beautiful and courageous undead woman who ever lived or died and then took the opportunity to extract a particularly passionate kiss from her while hoping that no one would observe what he appeared to be doing to a corpse.

Robin continued to be impressed all that day and evening by Marian's play-dead act. In fact, she was so good, that he had begun to worry that something was actually wrong with her. He worried all the more about it as he at last carried her unmoving but still rosy pink form to her grave, to lay her in the ground next to the hapless Carter—what a waste, that Carter. But then, Marian didn't seem to like having Carter around, as if she were jealous or something. Wasn't the jealousy supposed to work the other way around? Shouldn't he be the jealous one, of Marian and Carter? Maybe this was another vampire thing. Being a vampire could still confuse him. But Carter was gone, and perhaps it had all worked out for the best then. Robin didn't need to buy more trouble.

Yet Robin worried all that day and evening. The difficulty was that a vampire could go into such a deep sleep that no breathing or heart beat could be detected. Thus, some of his distress at the grave site was unquestioningly real, and he had no trouble working up the rest of it as needed for show.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Nighttime couldn't come quickly enough for Robin. When he left the crusader camp for some nocturnal wandering after the King had retired, no one, not even Much, was willing to notice his departure. They were terrified of facing the full force of the grief they expected he was harboring, and Robin fully counted on their fear to let him get away for this next essential task. Quietly collecting a shovel from the work crew's storage tent, he picked up his pace and trotted along the ridge to the burial site by moonlight. It was really quite lovely and romantic the way the silvery light glistened off the crystalline sands and illuminated the whole landscape. Too bad this was such a hellhole of a place. Not even a vampire could like the way blood just poured into the ground. Wicked waste, it was.

Reminding himself he needed to do this neatly so that the grave could be tidily repaired, Robin set methodically to work digging Marian up. His luck ran out just as he was lifting Marian from the grave. A hapless noncombatant, probably a servant, came suddenly over the rise and exclaimed in shock, but before he could say a coherent word, Robin seized the ever-present knife on his belt and threw it expertly into the man's chest. Robin then ran up the sand ridge and surveyed the area. Good. No one had come with him. Dragging the body back down to Marian's grave, he set it aside while unwrapping and attempting to rouse Marian.

"C'mon, Marian. Wake up. No time for napping." The weak levity was meant to be reassuring to himself, but fear began to knot within his stomach all the same. Finally, after what seemed far too long a time but was probably just a minute or two, Marian's eyes flickered open, and she smiled her beautiful smile. Robin was so overcome with relief, he threw himself on her and might have made love right then and there if Marian hadn't threatened a well-placed knee while observing, "I smell blood."

"Oh, yes," Robin grudgingly pulled back from more interesting thoughts, "it's this fellow right here. He interrupted me while I was digging you up. Are you hungry? I've saved him for you."

"You are such a sweetheart. I'm famished."

* * * * *

Once Marian was refreshed, the ex-servant carefully wrapped in her shroud and conveniently buried in her grave, and the two lovers were back to nuzzling each other (fangs once again carefully in check), they thought over their options in more detail. Robin needed to go back to England, but Marian couldn't travel with him. There was no way he could prevent the gang from discovering her on the ship, and it was just too soon for her to reappear as herself. They'd never accept it. Damn medieval superstitions. After discarding various plans, it was agreed that Robin would arrange for Marian to stay hidden for a while in the Holy Land. While staying low, Marian would keep an eye on Richard's activities. Marian was sorry to be separated from Robin yet again, but there seemed to be no help for it if they were to find a way to drag Richard home at last.

Could they ever get that wayward king home? Their fears, as it turned out, were proven true all too soon. Richard had scarcely arrived in Europe on his way home when he was taken and help captive barely halfway home for the proverbial king's ransom. Marian had tagged along with the king's party in the disguise of a cook who specialized in butchering, but upon this calamity, she immediately snuck off into the night, making a fast run for England and her beloved.

Meanwhile, Robin sailed home with the gang and put out yet another award-winning act of being fully and irrevocably crazed over the death of his adored Marian. Well, it wasn't so hard; he certainly _was_ pissed that he had to sleep alone for an undetermined future; such things are hard on a vampire. The needs of a vampire, in fact, are much more difficult to suppress than Robin had anticipated while setting up this plan. On the other hand, it was now obvious why vampires did not need to be concerned with such things as proper marital commitment among themselves. When you lived forever and were constantly fending off insatiable appetites, fidelity of the carnal kind didn't make so much sense. The important point was to keep faithful in the heart and mind, not the body.

Consequently, Robin didn't lose any sleep over his repeated failures to keep various body parts off of Isabella and Kate—foolish women—they thought they were so smart, but they didn't have any idea what kind of hellfire from the deep abyss they were playing with. Poor Much, though, so hopelessly in love with Kate. Robin wished with all his heart that he could explain the whole vampire problem to Much, but his faithful best friend would be sorely traumatized by the revelation, even more traumatized than by the idea that Robin had willfully taken Kate from him. In the end, Robin decided it was just as well to give Much a rough time now in order to spare him a far worse fate later. Kate and her immature, selfish ways would have given his faithful friend no end of grief until the day he died, or she ditched him for the tax collector, whichever came first.

Knowing Much's level of commitment, it would probably take both eventualities together to discourage him from clinging to Kate. That just was not acceptable. Robin decided he would have to find Much a good woman with the right doses of maternal instincts, honesty, and unrestrained passion prompted by the sight of a loyal puppy dog—and he would do so at the earliest opportunity (which would be as soon as Robin had Marian back and could better control himself). That special woman had better stay true to Much, or she'd have Robin to answer to. Somewhere in a dark recess of his mind, the hypocrisy of that reasoning did make itself aware to Robin, but internal contradiction was not something he planned to be bothered about, either.


	3. Chapter 3

Remember the Disclaimer: The original, non-parodied versions of these characters belong to the BBC and TA. No copyright infringement intended; just **mockery, rudeness, ridicule, snorts, yuks, and the usual snarks**. Vampires, on the other hand, are in the public domain!

Chapter 3

The business over his father was most upsetting, though, because, for one thing, Robin had hoped finally to make a meal of Gisborne on that fateful day in the forest. What a cosmic joke for Pops to just butt in out of nowhere after—what? Nearly fifteen years? And for what? The rescue of an idiot half-brother whose very existence was the original cause of all the trouble in their collective lives. After that most irritating revelation, Robin was surprised he wasn't also fraternal twins with Gisborne. Small miracles never cease. Come to think of it, Robin thought belatedly, given his paternal heritage, there was no telling how many half-siblings he had in Locksley village. He'd better be a little more careful with Kate.

Frankly, Robin would gladly trade his whole worthless family, at least the part he knew anything about, for his gang any day. Now why couldn't a decent father pay him a proper visit and chat about Robin's own life instead of imparting all this unwelcome news about a brat without a proper name? Archer! Who goes around calling himself Archer? Pompous back end of a donkey. But this father! Why not drop by and ask loyal son, Robin, what life had been like for the abandoned child left behind to learn about manhood all by himself? What about a little show of interest over his five grueling years on Crusade in the Holy Land and another two harsh years and counting of being outlawed? Not one ounce of curiosity? And why haul Gisborne into the whole sordid mess of rescuing the Archer brat when Gisborne's life had been just as wrecked by the same paternal indulgence?

So Malcolm of Locksley thought that Robin and Guy would happily team up to right their respective parents' wrongs after they (Robin and Guy, that is) had spent years trying to kill each other, never mind Robin's slightly more than passing interest in the current pressing needs of England. As for working with Gizzy, for all anyone else knew, Giz had just murdered Robin's wife. In fact, _everyone_ knew that. Malcolm the Clueless must have smoked his brain, as well as his face, that day in the fire. Allan may have had the hare-brained, amoral Tom for a brother, but Robin had a feeling that tolerating this Archer interloper would be a lot less easy. He did not have time to drop everything now to bail out a black sheep loser.

Fortunately, by this time, Marian arrived back in the shire, but with Gisborne now forced into the gang, Robin still had to keep Marian hidden from Gizzy's and therefore everyone else's sight. This was fortunate for her in a way because otherwise she would have had some trouble getting so much as a moment to herself with Robin no longer thinking with his brain. Marian found Robin's frustration over the whole situation most amusing, especially when she met him just outside the camp each night. Robin never had the patience to move far enough away, but then he was stuck struggling to keep quiet. Silent lovemaking had never suited him. As a consequence, Marian seemed to enjoy the … inappropriate … circumstances of their meetings all the more, and the one night Much came outside to deal with the too many rounds of ale enjoyed that evening, Robin had to freeze in the middle of … well, it wasn't pretty. Much then stopped dangerously close to the two of them and took a very long time to empty the plumbing. While _singing_ one of the gang's stupid drinking songs to himself! Robin later swore that he actually considered biting Much at that moment.

Despite what Robin may have preferred, their nocturnal meetings were not all heat and passion. Vamps have to drink, too, so Marian and Robin had to get in some quick hunting before dawn arrived. Once the Sheriff's men found a stag's body out in the forest and actually figured out that it had been drained of all blood with scarcely a wound to be found. Robin heard soon thereafter that the troop had been so frightened by this devil magic that after delivering the carcass to the Sheriff, all of them fled for the nearest port of exit from the country before Vaizey could think to stop them. Subsequently, the remainder of the castle guard was likewise spooked, so Vaizey took to locking the castle and city gates at nearly all times. Robin couldn't help grinning at the thought of Vaizey locking his own guard inside the castle so that they couldn't escape.

Then there was poor Allan. That was another unanticipated twist of fate. Robin had liked having that scoundrel around. If only the poor sod had been a vampire. It seemed so unfair because Allan would have truly enjoyed being a vampire. Had either Robin or Marian found him still alive and without witnesses, something singularly helpful could have been done for an old friend. It was all such a cruel and pointless loss. The best Robin could hope to do for him now would be to enlist the help of some zombie acquaintances. (Allan's body hadn't really been burned; that little bonfire was just for show and to satisfy the pesky Anti-Contagion League.) He just couldn't decide. Would Allan like to be a zombie, or not? He'll have to discuss it with Marian when they were finally settled.

For now, however, things were just getting worse every day. Stealing from the rich wasn't fun anymore. Robin was growing tired of the whole outlaw game and hoped the upcoming Nottingham battle would be the end of it. Time to put Prince John in his place, Vaizey out of his misery, and Marian back where she belonged.


	4. Chapter 4

This is the final chapter. To all readers, present and future (thinking hopefully ), thank you for reading.

Disclaimer: The original, non-parodied versions of these characters belong to the BBC and TA. No copyright infringement intended; just **mockery, rudeness, ridicule, snorts, yuks, and the usual snarks**. Vampires, on the other hand, are in the public domain!

**Chapter 4**

Unable to repress his do-gooder traits, Robin ended up, against his better judgment, cooperating with Giz and rescuing Archer. Now they were stuck with Archer in the gang, too. Is sucking one's half-brother dry a form of incest or just simple expediency, he wondered?

Next stop, the Battle of Nottingham. Things were not going so well. When did they ever? Trust a Gisborne—Isabella with her poisoned knife, to be precise—to mess it all up. What's worse, Robin had to listen to a dying Gisborne pour out his love for Marian one last time. Yadda, yadda. Robin strove to maintain the compassionate façade of a great leader, but some days—and this was one of them—he had a harder time loving everyone with magnanimity. He had things to do and places to be, for cryin' out loud. Nevertheless, he knew Marian would find out and expect him to behave for Gizzy's death scene. Well, she couldn't fault him for what he was _thinking__, _which, not to put too fine a point on it, was _Die already. Before I strangle you myself. I don't have all day. I'm only hanging around here holding you hand because Pops told me "Always do the right thing." Talk about "do as I say, not as I do" parenting. Oh, what was that you said? Never mind. Aren't you done yet? Don't you know there's an army at my gate?_

Thankfully, Marian's standards for showing compassion for all humans no matter how worthless they were (even if they became dinner) had diminished of late. The two of them were just having too good a time as a married couple to indulge in so many guilt trips. Besides, Marian had seen so much stupidity ever since series two started that even she agreed reforming some people was just too cost-_in_effective. The clincher came when she finally realized that compassion cost time, and unless they revised their _modus operandi_, Richard would die of old age before he got back on his throne. So compassion was now on Robin's back burner.

It was then that Isabella reappeared and came at Robin with her new toy, the poisoned knife, and Robin was almost but not quite quick enough to fend her off. At the last instant, however, Isabella stopped in mid-swipe with a look of horror on her face. Robin grabbed the knife from her, then she screamed and ran away. Puzzled, Robin turned around to see what had spooked the Gisborne witch, and he saw a familiar if not quite welcome sight.

"Oh, it's you. What are _you_ doing here, er, Malcolm?" Then speaking in a stage whisper behind his hand, Robin added, "You don't mind if I call you 'Malcolm,' do you? I think it would be best if we don't start people asking too many questions."

Malcolm shuffled over, wearing his carefully tattered robes designed for maximum alms-collecting. "Uhh, sure. That's quite all right, my boy," he mumbled conspiratorily.

"Then what _are_ you doing here?"

"I just had a thought this morning. In fact," Malcolm interrupted himself, "could I see that knife a moment?" Puzzled, Robin handed the knife over, and Malcolm sniffed the blade with concentration. "Ah, ha. As I thought. She used it."

Robin's eyes narrowed. "She used _what_?"

"Welllll." Malcolm hesitated but then wisely decided to come clean. "Guy came to me yesterday when I was hanging out at the Trip and asked quietly if I had any really potent stuff, stronger than what's on my darts. I said, sure. What for? He said, 'my sister will need it to commit suicide before we hang her.' He offered me a pretty penny for a bottle of it. I can always use the cash, you know." Malcolm paused.

Robin put on his best menacing look and pressed harder, "_Go on_."

"Ummm. Then this morning I got to thinking. That young Gisborne was always a bit dumb like a stump. Could never work the game out more than one chess move ahead. If he wanted his sister to commit suicide, he'd have to stand there and make her do it. If he just handed her the stuff.... Any two-bit scholar could guess what would happen next. So I came to see if I could catch up with her. I wouldn't want to cause more trouble."

"No, you _wouldn't_," snorted Robin. They both fell silent for a moment, while Robin sought an advantage from what was left of the situation at hand and briefly thought over the pros and cons of patricide. He came to a typically masterful decision. "Listen, Malcolm. Since you're here, how about you doing me a little favor. I have an army knocking on my gate upstairs. I'll need a couple of hours tops to sort them out, but afterwards, if you tie up this one loose end for me, then we can have a nice chat over a late dinner."

Malcolm brightened at the prospect of a free meal. "Sounds capital to me. What do you need?"

"See that old fellow over there: black brocade, white hair, missing tooth? He thinks he owns this castle. Used to be Sheriff, but Prince John demoted him. We just can't get rid of him, though. He hangs around like he belongs here, causing no end of trouble. You'd make a lot of people really happy if you take Isabella's knife here and give him a little cut. Nothing messy. You can make it look like an accident. OK?"

"You sure that's all right, Robin? No one will mind?"

"Absolutely not, Malcolm. You just go right ahead, get it done, and not worry about it. Couldn't be easier." Robin gestured toward the Sheriff who had been wandering aimlessly about the crypt all this time.

Still, the man hesitated. "I...." Malcolm was not used to being a man of action, having failed to take many appropriate actions in his life.

"Seconds on the meat course." Robin pressed the knife hilt into Malcolm's palm.

"But..."

"Unlimited refills of Nottingham's best ale." Robin lifted his brows impishly.

"Fine." Malcolm succumbed to irresistible forces and squared his shoulders while looking with determination at the disturbing figure now screaming at no one in particular.

"Good, then. I'll see you when the dust settles." Robin turned to go.

Before either of them could take a step, out of nowhere—because this is so typical of the story of Robin's life, or at least the one written by the scriptwriters—Isabella ran back in and grabbed the knife from Malcolm. This time she succeeded in slashing at Robin. Realizing what she thought she had accomplished, Robin pretended to be horrified, and in her glee, Isabella spun around and tripped on her skirt causing her to fall on her own knife. Robin brightened immediately at the prospect before him, lifted her dramatically in his arms, and asked her for one last kiss. Predictably, she smiled happily and reached for him. He quickly drained her body.

Looking on, Malcolm was totally puzzled by Robin's actions. "How'd you do that? Get her all limp like that?"

Robin, swiftly wiping his mouth, replied casually, "Not to worry, Malcolm. Did you know that drinking human blood is an antidote for most poisons?"

"You don't say! Never heard of it. I should think I would have known. Certainly is effective by the looks of you, though." Malcolm shook his head a little in wonderment.

Robin retrieved the still-poisoned knife—Isabella had used enough poison on it to kill an army—and handed it carefully back to Malcolm while pointing to the gibbering Sheriff, now flapping his arms and making bird noises. "No time like the present," he cheerfully asserted.

Malcolm nodded and added, "See you at dinner."

"Absolutely. Meet me in the private dining room." Robin winked and left whistling.

Robin bounded up the stairs and into the well-appointed chamber he had arranged for his private celebratory dinner that evening. The rest of the gang along with that Archer joker were having a drunken party with assorted wenches in one of the other halls, while a general buffet of whatever was left in the kitchens had been put out in the courtyard for the Nottinghamians. He liked to think of them as the People's Army of Nottingham. That had a nice ring to it. Everyone was having a good time, and it was quite the wind-up to a good day's work. Robin was more than typically pleased with himself this evening, and now for the _pièce de resistance_. There should be two guests awaiting him….

Ahh, and there they were. They sat at the heavily laden table with an extra place set out for him. Marian was exquisite in red-trimmed black brocade. Had she dyed her hair black? It looked more … raven, than he recalled. And her ruby-red lip color was intoxicating.

And there was Malcolm, well into his cups and looking rosy-cheeked—well, at least one cheek was rosy given that the other was covered in white scar tissue. How could someone make such a mess of his life? Robin, who knew full well he had abandoned everything to become an outlaw, nevertheless shook his head in bewilderment. "At least I never wandered around in rags looking like something scraped out of the gutter," he thought. "Then again, the man has some interesting potions and a total lack of qualms." That was the problem with healer women like Djaq and Matilda. They could mix the most interesting potions, but they wouldn't let Robin have the really useful ones for his own devices. Maybe he could create a special post for Malcolm, something particularly suited to his … demeanor … such as, Gentleman of the Privy Chamber. It was a little odd sounding, but Robin was sure people would get used to the title and soon think it quite important. Anything that had a prepositional phrase and was capitalized easily gained an aura of grave consequence if you always spoke of it in the correct tones. Malcolm could be his special right-hand man (or left-hand, whichever hand was still working for the old git) for matters too impractical for Much or too devious for the semi-departed Allan. Yes, Robin needed someone like that on hand. (Robin made a mental note to discuss Allan's future prospects with Marian right after dinner.)

They were laughing and chatting when Robin strolled in. Marian swept up off her chair and swirled over to Robin, placing a slightly damp kiss on his cheek. "Good evening, My Lord," she said, laughing.

"Darling Wife," Robin declared, as he swung her around. "I'm so glad you found your way in here."

"No trouble at all, Robin. I simply arrived and took over the Sheriff's apartments. It's already settled. The maids are changing the linens and sweeping out the bird feathers as we speak. I sent the birds out the window, well most of them. Would you believe that man also had a large collection of gowns in his garderobe? I've never seen so many silks, velvets, and brocades! They are a little large for me, but I'll have them taken in and fitted. This one," she did a little twirl for him, "was easy to gather in with all the cross ties attached everywhere. I can't imagine who his designer is, but I fear you will have your work cut out for you with untying me, later."

"Not something I would fear," Robin leered, but added with an innocent face and a slight bow, "it is a noble reuse of precious resources, my love. I applaud your industry and creativity." They turned to the table and saw Malcolm eying them both as he gnawed on a turkey leg. "So, Malcolm, you have met my lovely wife."

Malcolm nodded and took another swig of ale before answering. "Marian is a jewel. Good work, my boy," he said with heartfelt paternal sincerity.

Marian continued, "So I asked where to find you, and the castle steward led me here. I've just been getting acquainted with my father in law." She smiled silkily. For a moment, Robin thought he saw fangs, but they were gone as he blinked.

"I know he isn't much to look at, Marian," Robin apologized, "but he's been a great help to us, today."

"Oh, yes. So I have learned, Robin. Malcolm has been explaining his skill with poisons and daggers to me. And he's also told me about this amazing blood antidote you have taught him."

"Ahh. That." Robin looked embarrassed. "It saved me, you know." In a quick whisper to Marian's ear, Robin added pleadingly, worried she might be annoyed with him, "I'm so sorry I couldn't share. Next time, I promise."

"That's quite all right, my love," Marian answered him aloud. "I can look out for myself. Next time, it will just be the two of us, but tonight," she turned back to Malcolm with a flourish and a smile, "we are family. Come, Robin, and join us. I had our steaks cooked very rare, just the way you and I like them." Malcolm waved his drumstick in jovial acknowledgement.

Late that night, Robin Hood, also of Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon, and the _de facto _ruler of Nottinghamshire, sighed contentedly in the Sheriff's big four-poster bed, Marian's very pleasant weight and warmth still provoking the occasional tingle and preventing him from dozing off. "Marian?"

"Hmmm?"

"Should I lobby to become Sheriff, or should I just settle for being Earl?"

"Sheriff. And Earl."

"Really? You think it could be done?"

"_We_ would be a masterful Sheriff," Marian mumbled drowsily, yet not too asleep to forget to think of politics. Marian really did get a cerebral thrill out of the political game, and that's _one_ thing Robin loved about her.

Robin never missed a well placed emphasis. "Oh, we would, would we?" He pulled her in tighter, but she pretended to be limp, much to his irritation. "Don't tell me that you are sleepy already. Am I boring you with these mundane plans?"

"Quite the contrary. You are finally being interesting," she teased, opening her eyes at last. "In fact, we must definitely be Sheriff as well as Earl. We can build our own little kingdom here in the Midlands, with our personal zombie guard under Allan's leadership, and Prince John will soon discover that he needs us more that we need him. What fun we shall have!"

"Good idea, then," he grinned impishly. "I love the way you think. But is that all that interests you here in this bed?"

"I don't know. I'll need to look around," she lifted the covers but didn't get a chance to look very far. Vampires thrive best on at least ten passionate climaxes per night, and Robin had only counted eight thus far.


End file.
